SPLEEN is the personal blog of Stephen Judd

All posts tagged "waiheke"

I am clean shaven again, much to Kathy's relief. Thank you for your kind donations, which totalled about $30 for me, and a rather larger sum for the Peace Tower Level 1 Moustache Team. I have retained the lower fuzz, as an ironic commentary on desperate hipsters of course.

The weekend was very musical. On Saturday I filled in with the Benka Borodovsky Bordello Band [WARNING Myspace, embedded audio, rude lyrics in English and Russian], and on Sunday George and Queen [more Myspace] had an afternoon performance at the Kings Arms. Sunday was a double date with Andrew Keoghan [what is it with Myspace and bands?], who looked as though he was going to be a terrible three chord singer-songwriter with dire lyrics, but actually was engaging, funny and a really good musician.

Saturday's performance was at a 21st party on Waiheke. Sam Neill was at the party and passing around pizza. I didn't recognise him. Heh.

I now understand why Hans fulminates against Fullers [cheerful Belgian sodomite], and I'd like to add that the Waiheke taxi company also sucks.

Ryan the drummer had asked the driver who dropped him off to pick him up at 9:45 for the 10:15 ferry. Great! She picked up two other people at 9:40, neither of whom was Ryan, and drove off, leaving us waiting, waiting... at 10 we rang and were told they would send a couple of cars for us and our friends. Waiting, waiting... we gave up, and watched the ferry sail away from the other side of the harbour. The party organisers had organised transport for the last ferry at 12:30, so off we went in the first of the buses they had lined up. At 11, there were already about 70 people in the ferry terminal. They had been turned away from the 10:15. Around midnight I wandered out to the dock for some fresh air. Immediately a crowd surged behind me, past me, and packed out the gangway - no bastard was going to leave them behind! By the time the ferry came the local cop was patrolling and the ferry had several security guards on it. They announced that there would be a second ferry soon. Riot averted. It was utterly predictable that this would happen. The ferries to the island had been packed all afternoon with mainland partiers. So anyway, I got home hours later than I thought, grumpy and stone cold sober.

The wind was nippy on the dock. A big Samoan chap in front of me announced "I'm black and supposed to have a big cock, but it's pretty tiny right now." I suppose if Hans had been there he could have offered emergency treatment.

I was very taken with the little of Waiheke we saw and hope to make a more leisurely trip there before we move back to Welly.

The only compensation was observing my fellow passengers. I was particularly struck by one chap, who had a bowl haircut, huge aviator glasses with coke-bottle lenses, a grey flannel suit with waistcoat, and a natty flat cap. His wife and little boy were with him. He had a thick-lipped, broad-cheeked, round head, and nursed an acoustic guitar case. I decided he was a visiting folk musician funded by his government - perhaps Estonia, or Byelorussia - and had been giving a free performance for a community group. Just like me.